


viraha

by lostalongtthewayy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan - Freeform, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostalongtthewayy/pseuds/lostalongtthewayy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(n.) the realization of love through separation.<br/>CS modern au. Friends to lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

The first time she realizes she loves him, they are seventeen (well, _he_ is seventeen, she's still sixteen just a few days shy of seventeen)

David's talking to her (he's ranting really) —going on and on about how could she do this, what was she thinking and, (her favorite) does she even understand what this means for her future?

Which of course Emma does, but somehow the words don’t form to protest. So she takes it as David keeps reminding her, time and again, just how deeply she fucked up this time.

To be fair, he’s right.

She did fuck up big this time.

_She's pregnant_

She's not proud of the fact, but she can't exactly change it now.

Emma decides taking her big brother’s patronizing speech is the smallest of her problems right now.

(Although, _technically,_ the baby is barely the size of a small pear _right now_ —but that is hardly the point though, and she knows it)

David is asking her about school; he asks her if she even considered what this would mean to her academic history, if she _cares._

Emma doesn't answer, her face stays down, and she fidgets with a decorative pillow on her lap.  

It is when David asks her (for the umpteenth time!) if she's even listening and if she cares about any of this at all, that Killian intervenes

(Killian. _Her_ Killian. Her best friend since they were both children. The one who warned her about Neal long before Emma agreed to _run away_ with him a few months ago)

She doesn’t even know what she was thinking back then. At the time he’d seen so perfect, she thought he cared for her, _truly did,_ but of course, it all turned out to be for show.

And now, here she is, months later, with her tail between her legs, _pregnant,_ unable to defend herself, all but completely disappointed in herself, and yet… _Killian Jones_ doesn't see any of this.

He still sees her as his best friend. No more. No less.

When Emma told him about this, he said: “ _You are a bloody mess, Swan_ ,” and that had been it. No _I told you so’s,_ no nagging, just that before offering his never ending support, and a promise to always be there for her —no matter what she decides.

And he is most certainly making good on that promise.

Emma looks up from her lap the instant Killian stands up from the spot he was sitting. He moves immediately to stand in front of David, and then says, “That's enough, mate.” He shakes his head resolutely when David tells him this isn't his business.

(And maybe it isn't. Maybe it shouldn't be, but Emma is his friend and that alone makes her his business —at least that is Killian’s story and he’s sticking to it)

“Don't you see she's had enough, Dave,” his tone softens as he addresses David one more time, but his jaw is tight, and Emma knows he’s rather pissed and holding back. “She knows she made a mistake, she already told you how bloody sorry she is. Can you, for at least a minute, just get off your high horse and back off? She’s your sister, and she fucked up, but all _this_ David? She doesn’t need any of this right now.”

David is quiet at his words. Killian’s tone was grave, the one he uses only when he is truly pissed and honestly, the only reason he doesn’t swing one at David right now is because he knows that would only make things worse for Emma.

(And Killian will never, _intentionally_ , do something that would bring pain to Emma Swan. He cares about her too damn much for that)

David takes a breath in the end, deflating as he takes a step back. He looks at Emma and softly nods before declaring they'll finish this talk later when he's cooled off some.

David leaves the room then, but Killian is still riled up —he hates David a little for being so harsh on Emma. It isn't as though she went out there and got herself pregnant on purpose.

This was an accident.

Emma knows it, Killian does, David at least should be mature enough to try to see that too.

Killian’s still fuming but Emma pulls him out of his thoughts after a moment. She coughs a bit and in seconds (literally, _seconds_ ) he's kneeling on the floor in front of her. Killian puts his hand on her knee, helping him balance on the floor. He looks at her and she's just so broken, so sad and... _hopeless_.

 _Fucking Neal!_ If Killian ever does put his hands on him—

“You didn’t have to do that, but…thank you.”

Emma’s words pull him from his thoughts again —from his anger and in instants, his face goes soft as their eyes lock. He nods at her. “No need lass,” he assures her easily. “Your brother is a bloody git but you know he's only like this because he loves you. He's worried,”

“I know,”

“I'm truly sorry about this Swan,”

It's such a _him_ thing to say, Emma wants to cry so bad.

In fact, she's pretty sure she will. Her eyes are burning with tears and before she can't stop it, a sob catches in her throat.

Killian curses before lifting himself off the floor and instead gathering her in his arms. “There, you are okay Swan, you are okay, I got you Emma,”

His words are a whisper, reciting over and over again that everything is going to be okay as she breaks down.

His arms around her are steady, keeping her from _completely_ falling apart. Truly, she's never been more glad to have him as her best friend.

Only—

“I'm sorry about getting all feisty on your brother,” he tells her once she's calmed down _some,_ and they are sitting beside each other on the couch.

Emma doesn't reply, just looks at him; eyes red rimmed, cheeks still wet with tears she hasn't wiped. (She probably looks dreadful, but if he notices or cares, he doesn't say)

Emma has a feeling he truly doesn't care either way.

He answers her unspoken comment after a beat, “I know you can stand up for yourself, lass,” he tells her knowing full well any other time, Emma would have kicked his ass for attempting to _defend her_.

“You're the strongest person I know, Swan, you don't need me shouting at your family to back off, but I just couldn't help it.”

Sometimes he's just too strong headed. Too much. He's impulsive and passionate. He doesn't think about the consequences until it's a tad too late sometimes.

He and Emma have that in common

In the third grade, right before the end of the year, they “ _liberated”_ at least four dozen birds from the science lab because they've decided keeping them in cages was “ _brutal and inhumane_ ”

That summer they worked, literally had to _work_ for the first time in their young lives, at the animal shelter cleaning dog poo day in and day out as a punishment.

Since always, he's been her best friend, but in that moment when he tells her —no, _reminds_ her, how strong she is, Emma realizes no one in the world knows her like _he_ does.

And it hits her suddenly that she loves him. _Loves him;_ for seeing her for what she is and nothing more. For believing in her, for not giving up on her, for being _there_. For all those movies they've watched together, for that time he taught her how to fucking kiss when she was thirteen and losing her shit over not knowing how to do it _._

For that time he cried with her when her childhood dog died, and when a few years later, she did the same for him when his brother moved overseas to join the navy.

She loves him, and perhaps she didn't know it before, no with the kind of certainty she does now, but —she does.

Emma thinks maybe running away wasn’t even about Neal after all. Maybe it was about herself, about that knack she has for sabotaging herself sometimes. Maybe it was an act of fear.

Pure and utter fear of accepting the facts as they are and instead fighting her every instinct to make her feelings for Killian be less so than they are.

She's fucked up everything now though. How she feels, it's not like it matters anymore. She has a mess the size of the moon to deal with now, and she needs Killian by her side if she’s going to make it.

So really, there is no way she’s screwing _this_ up now too.

Not when the chance of losing him is so great.

And she can’t do that, she just can't lose him.

/-/-/

Emma doesn't keep the baby of course. She can't. She's not ready; she's only seventeen years old for Christ's sake.

It is by far the hardest thing she's had to do so far —not just the pregnancy (which was hell in and of itself) but giving up the baby.

She's sure of her decision, that isn't the problem, she's not even all that attached to the bump (she refused to call it anything different)

But once Emma hears _him_ , squeaky cry when he's _finally_ born, she hates herself for reconsidering her whole resolve. It _really is a baby_ —a boy. Healthy.

He cries for a few moments; Emma’s eyes are shut tight as they check him and clean him.

He's wailing and she wants him to stop. She wants him to just be quiet so she can focus in her own tears and fears and then, then he just does it. The room is suddenly silent and for some reason it scares Emma.

Is like a cold shiver radiates through her, all the way down her spine, and it makes her snap her eyes open at once. She sees the doctor; he's walking toward her, a small (so tiny) little bundle of blue in his arms.

There's still a patch of blood on the side of his tiny little face though; that is the only thing Emma chooses to focus on.

The doctor is telling her if she wishes to hold her child ( _her child_ for heaven’s sake) and again she starts crying.

She looks at the baby through the tears falling from her eyes; he’s no longer crying but he still isn’t looking very happy either in the doctor’s arms. His arms are flailing a little, one of them is anyway, and he's kicking too, Emma sees. She swallows hard, ignoring the nurse that tells the doctor about her plans to give the baby up.

“I can't,” Emma mutters but it's barely a whisper. Clearly, the other grownups in the room don't hear her, but she hopes Henry does — _Henry_ , that's his name. She has no rights on that little baby but he _is_ a little person and Emma decides in that moment she's going to call him Henry.

She may be saying goodbye to him so soon after meeting him, but she knows, knows as she knows this baby’s best chance isn't with her, that she loves him _(she does)_ and that isn't going to stop just because they aren't together.

“I'm not changing my mind,” she says. Her voice sounds a little louder this time, clearly gets her the doctor’s attention. He doesn't ask her (aloud, that is) if she's sure, but the look he's giving her translates as such.

“I can't be his mother,”

The doctor’s face doesn't fall; he merely nods his head and turns around. Emma watches as he hands the baby over to a nurse. She cradles the small baby carefully, before walking to that plastic bassinet and setting the baby there. She cleans him some more, still in the room as the doctor instructs Emma to focus so they can finish up here. Her stomach is still contracting, not nearly as painful as it was before Henry was born, but still rather uncomfortable.

She shuts her eyes tight, pretending she isn't here for a moment. She thinks maybe when she's thirty or something she'll be able to do this. Maybe then giving her baby to strangers will not seem as the only choice she has as far as actually giving her son a future.

Emma's eyes open again when they are wheeling Henry out of the room; she sees the little side of his head before the nurse takes him. He's clean now, no patches of blood on him anymore —she's not sure why, but she smiles.

She smiles looking at that spot she last sees her son and then, half a beat later, the tears start cascading again and she's sobbing.

Her brother is outside. He stayed out there the whole time as she gave birth to Henry. Emma didn't want him inside the room with her.

And it isn't even because she's still mad at him, or because he's still disappointed in her. He is, but he decided to support her with anything and everything he could after the shock of her pregnancy wore off

Emma couldn't do this with David in the room though. This is her mess, and as that, it was hers to clean up   

—Although right now she feels as if she’s done anything but.

She feels empty, _literally_ empty. And while she knows she made the right choice, it still hurts. She signed some papers; Henry isn't hers to worry about anymore.

But she still does, and she wishes the feeling would stop for just a little bit of time. Enough to catch her breath and take in the big picture.

/-/-/

Killian Jones walks into her hospital room at fucking five in the morning the next day. She's still asleep when he walks in, so she doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t care though —as soon as visiting hours started, he rushed to her room.

For the last two months, Emma barely spoke to him. He is off in New York City these days, for school, for his future he thinks, but he still _left her_ and he knows it.

But Killian’s sorry; he’s so so sorry, but of course Emma’s damn stubborn and is pushing him away.

For weeks now, she hasn’t taken any of his calls, nor has she answered his emails or texts anymore.

Killian had wished more than anything to be home and just get her to _see him_ , speak to him so he could bring her walls down the only way _he_ knows how, but he was miles away and never felt as powerless.

David gave him a call the day before, said they were at the hospital and that the baby was on his way. Killian had driven home all night but made it way past visiting hours. He stayed at the hospital though, never one to give up, and as soon as the nurse gave him the okay five minutes before five in the morning, he went immediately to Emma’s room.

He’s frozen at first though. Emma’s on her side, legs tucked, looking so small and vulnerable in that hospital bed. Her hair is a mess, her face more so. Her eyes are swollen; even in her sleep Killian can tell how much she's been crying.

It breaks his heart, and for a split second, he wants to turn around and leave. He wants to leave before she even knows he was here. Killian knows he can't possibly fix this for her, _he knows this,_ but he still wishes with all his might he could.

He closes his eyes, just for a few seconds, and when he opens them again, he simply sees _Emma_ ; the same little girl that kicked his shins when they were eight for being a bloody prick. Even back then, she was braver and stronger than him (she always has been)

The urge to turn around and go is gone as fast as it came, and instead Killian forces himself to breathe a little deeper.

The sun hasn't even come out yet, still at least an hour until it does. Killian decides against waking her, she's asleep he thinks, and if he knows her well enough (and he absolutely fucking does) he knows at least for a while, all of her waking hours are going to be weighed down by the pain of giving her son away. He knows this couldn't have been easy for her. He knows because he knows her, how much she believes this is the best chance she could offer her baby son.

This doesn't mean she's not going to be feeling bloody guilty for days, weeks, or maybe even months though. She may shut him out again, most likely she will, Killian knows, but for right now, when she's still asleep and her mistakes and regrets aren’t weighing her down, Killian decides to just be here. He pulls a chair right next to her bed and sits there.

He's exhausted too. He drove all night and then barely was able to get a few minutes of sleep every couple of hours while he waited in the waiting room. He has seen his Emma now though, so he knows sleep won't be as elusive anymore.

He rests his head on the bed, right beside her arm. He kisses her knuckles before closing his eyes and whispering, “I'm so sorry you had to do this, Swan,”

/-/-/

When she wakes up, he wakes up. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't bloody fucking know _what to say (_ what do you say to your best friend after she's given up a very part of her in the hope to give him his best chance?)

_What. Do. You. Say?_

Killian has no clue so he doesn't say anything at all. She's struggling not to cry so he just gets up; he stumbles to his feet, still groggy with sleep but still able to do as his heart tells him.

The chair screeches behind him when he pushes it, but he doesn't care. He moves inward, gathers Emma in his arms and that’s all it takes before she’s letting out anguished sobs of grief as soon as her head touches his chest.

He holds her tight, probably a tad tighter than he should, but she doesn't care and he can't help himself. She's sobbing and honestly, he feels as though he's about to too. He kisses her hair but it doesn't help. She's a bloody mess and his heart breaks some more.

They are pressed together just so, that she can just barely hear his heartbeat. She isn't holding back though and her sobs are mighty and full of heartbreak. She hardly has mind for anything other than her sadness, but then there's the steady beating of his heart. She _feels_ it as well as can almost hear it, and it's not easy to focus in the sound and the feel, but she tries.

She breathes deeper, her sobs turning to cries, and she can hear it a little better now. For a split moment, his heartbeat is all she leaves in her mind. For a split moment, she stops thinking all together.

For that split moment in time, it's all right to just hug the one person in the world she needed with her yesterday.

The one person in the world she wishes Henry had gotten to meet.

The world fades away (for a beat, but it does) and everything's calm — _she is, because_ she's in his arms, and perhaps nothing can hurt her there. Perhaps everything is going to be okay after all.

Perhaps Henry will one day forgive her for being a horrible person.

/-/-/

She moves on. They both do.

He goes back to school and eventually she does too. She goes to California, while he stays in the East Coast.

They talk ( _sometimes_ ) but it's not the same.

He still sees right through her, reads her like an open book like always, but he bites back the words he wants to tell her every time she takes her anger on him.

If she's frustrated, he pays for it —because he cares about her too much, but also because he's too bloody stubborn to just give up on her.

She wants him too, he knows, it's so fucking clear she's using all she's got to push him away, but jokes on her, because he's not one to give up.

Never has.

And anyway, it's Christmas break in just a few weeks, so they soon will just _have_ to see each other again —whether she likes it or not.

/-/-/

Only Emma doesn't come back home for the holidays this year. She bought the plane ticket, she packed her bags; she fucking bought _him_ a present and wrapped it as neatly as she could.

The morning of her flight however, she chickens out.

She is a coward, she realizes. She can't face him because if she does, if she sees him again (after almost six months) she knows she'll go back to being that pathetic sad little lost girl she was when she left Boston a year ago.

Emma doesn't want him to be but he still is; Killian is a reminder of the girl —the _woman_ she's trying very hard not to be. Here, well, here life is different. No one knows about her past, nobody fucking cares, and that's okay.

She tells Elsa bits and pieces of her life sometimes. She's been her roommate for a while, and she's nice and they get along. She's not pushy or gossipy, just asks normal questions out of curiosity sometimes.

Emma does too. She knows she has a sister, a younger sister, and that they are very close.

Emma tells her about David sometimes, about how much she absolutely loves him, but how nice it truly is to be away from him for now. She tells her how their parents died when they were young, and how David always was more of a parent to her than a brother since then.

Elsa tells her she relates, although she's the oldest and she figures she's done the times of parent to Anna a lot through the years as well.

It's annoying, the way _he (Killian)_ just pops into her mind at the most inconvenient of times. Emma ends up thinking how Killian used to get her _perfectly._ His joke of a father had abandoned them when he and Liam were still small. They've bounced from foster care family to foster care family until they've been assigned to a single woman caring for far more boys that she should. She cared more about the stipend she got for the children, than the children themselves, but Killian always told her that was okay.

He had Liam after all, _“he's frankly more of a father to me than our deadbeat father ever was” —_ Liam is his hero. Killian loves him so much and has tried his whole life to never disappoint him. It doesn’t always work, but he still tries.

Emma feels the same way about David. She _hates_ to disappoint him, but sometimes shit just happens and she finds she can't help it no matter how much she tries.

These holidays are going to be a glaring disappointment in his book, she's sure. She's never spend a holiday without him, but she figures they are older now (she's nineteen now after all) and it's to be expected that as they get older, and get lives of their own, they can't possibly be there for _every_ occasion _all the time_ , right?

That's Emma’s reasoning anyway, and she finds herself stubbornly sticking to it.

/-/-/

It's Christmas Eve and she's alone in the small apartment she shares with Elsa (Elsa, the very one who did have the good sense of flying home for the holidays to spend some time with her family) when Emma’s phone buzzes.

It's not quite midnight yet, a bit less than twenty minutes until, and Emma’s not surprised it's _him_ texting her.

They have rituals ( _used_ to have rituals?)

Killian has after all spent Christmas with her family (she and David) since they were about eleven years old. Killian had stopped being a little shit _to her_ by then, and they've become sort of friends. David and Liam got along really well, were _mates,_ and decided that year to stick together and celebrate the holidays the four of them. Killian dared Emma to stay awake until midnight, saying, “ _I will not give you your present if you can't make it, Swan.”_

And of course she hadn’t been able to say no to _that._

But it had been a struggle; her eyelids so heavy by the time the clock showed 11:00pm. By then, she was ready to just give up and tell him he could have his present, shove it wherever he liked, that she just _didn't need it_.

At around 11:30 that night, when Killian came back from the restroom, Emma was angrily rearranging her sleeping bag so it was as far away from Killian's as possible. She’d decided she was done waiting around until midnight. Stupid him and his stupid dares. She didn't need no present, and yet, then—

“Here, Swan, you can open it now,”

And she frowned because what happened to the annoying little brat that had been taunting her all day about being a baby that couldn't possibly stay up until midnight?

“What? Why? It's not midnight yet Killian.”

And he didn't even answer, just shrugged and moved to put the gift down by her sleeping bag.

Emma had groaned, annoyed at him. He'd busied himself with his own sleeping bag, rearranging it as well since Emma had so happened to step all over it.

Angrily, she’d walked to him and sat on the very sleeping bag he was trying to straighten up.

And he sighed, annoyed at her but it was _mostly_ for show and she knew it. He sat in front of her, crisscrossing his legs and lifting his eyebrows playfully. “Are you going to open it?”

Truth was, Killian didn't have all that much change to spare those days — _at all_. But he'd shoved some snow that winter, so he'd saved up a few bucks. Not a lot by any means but thankfully it had been enough to get Emma something as soon as he knew he'd spend Christmas at her home.

Emma had kept her eyes on the present; studying the snowmen on the light blue wrapping paper, before nodding her head at him. “Thank you,”

“You are welcome,” he answered and then yawned.

And _that,_ made her lose it. “You are falling asleep too!” She teased him unable to help herself. “It's 11:43 you dork! _You_ are the _bloody baby_ that can't make it till midnight!” And again she laughed while Killian feigned grumpiness and tried his best not to laugh as well.

It was futile the second she snorted from laughing so hard.

“Stop it Swan!” He called at her after the _third_ snort. “Just open the bloody present!”

And she had.

To this day, she still kept the stupid (so precious) Boston snow globe he gave her that first Christmas they spent together.

Today however, his text message is simple, not even a hello, but just a little note,

                                                                                  << Your brother’s girl is lovely, Swan. You’d like her. >>  
_December 24, 2003, 11:44pm_

And that is it. That is all he wrote. She wants to be mad at him, she _is_ mad at him actually, but she knows she has no right to be.

He's done nothing wrong. She's the one who's pushed him away at every chance she's gotten. This is all her fault and no one else’s.

Still, she can't just not answer. Emma can care less about David’s new girlfriend. He seems excited about her, so much Emma can tell, but right now, she doesn't care one bit about Maria or Mary or whatever the hell her name is.

Instead,

                                                                                                                                 << Merry Christmas >>  
_December 24, 2003, 11:52pm_

His reply comes in just a minute after midnight,

                                                                                 << Merry Christmas to you too, love. >>  
_December 25, 2003, 12:01am._

And her breath hitches and suddenly she wants to cry like she hasn't in almost some solid six months.

(I miss you)

(I’m sorry for fucking everything up)

(You are still my best friend)

(Why haven't you just dragged me back home already?)

(Back to _you_ )

She thinks in all the things she wishes she could tell him but the words die at her fingertips. She just can't do it.

Still, there's one more thing. One more thing she wishes she could tell him more than anything else in the world. Just one thing. Three words.

(I love you)

/-/-/

The _last time_ they speak, is through email. Emma’s been away from home a couple years, almost three and she has yet to return for a visit _once. S_ he is still sort of in contact with her life back home though.

(barely, but she is)

She and Killian text and email during the week —he does anyway. He writes her, a lot sometimes, little messages some others.

Emma replies, _sometimes._

 _(_ rarely)

He’s upset about not seeing her, about how many of his questions, and concerns go unanswered.

It’s the middle of July; she’s busy sifting through some books for this summer class she’s taking when her phone chimes —and it’s _his_ chime.

She resists reading the message right away. The last time they tried speaking on the phone, Emma had gotten so upset for something so stupid, that she had hung up the phone while he was still speaking at the other end.

She’s an asshole, she truly is, but she’s still not sure she’s ready to hear Killian telling her as much.

She resists for all of five minutes before she’s launching to grab her phone, and opens his message.

She has not a clue how to answer that, so she doesn’t.

She cries though.

She cries _a lot_ that night.

/-/-/


	2. Chapter 2

It’s summer, mere couple of weeks before graduation and Emma is still in California.

She has already made up her mind about what she’s doing next, but she still hasn’t had the guts to tell anyone about it yet.

She thinks she wants to, but is still too scared to do it.

Luckily for her, a buzz and a chime coming from her phone keep her from further thinking about sharing her plans with anyone just yet.

It’s an email from Elsa she gets. And while Emma _is_ looking forward to hear what her friend has been up to, she finds herself frowning immediately at the content of the email.

Elsa is, in no roundabout way, asking her to buy a plane ticket to North Carolina and meet her there.

Just like that.

She tells Emma she’ll explain everything _then_.

Wait what?

What is she even talking about?

As far as Emma knows, Elsa is in freaking _Spain_ —she has been there for at least the last seven months.

(the traitor, leaving her alone their last semester of college)

But she’s been interning for a company, learning the language and for once, enjoying life without constantly having to worry (parent, really,) either her sister Anna or, yeah, well, Emma herself.

It is no secret Elsa has taken to her —a lot, they are like sisters these days, and that’s something Emma is grateful for every day. She never thought she was going to be able to make any _real_ friends in this place when she moved at first, but now, well, she still doesn’t have a whole lot of _real_ friends, but she does have several close acquaintances, and she has Elsa.

She’s become almost family in the last few years, and that fact is the only reason Emma doesn’t completely blow her off about this sudden trip to North Carolina.

(Of all places. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever even been there in the first place)

She rolls her eyes as she re-reads Elsa’s message one more time —if she thinks she’s not going to ask for an explanation beyond that email, Elsa doesn’t know Emma all that well, after all.

And sure enough, as soon as Elsa picks up the phone when Emma calls, she says, “I _knew it!_ You can’t just take a leap of faith! Can you woman?”

And they laugh, because no, Emma Swan doesn’t do leaps of faith. _Please_. “Are you going to tell me what all the secretiveness is about? What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Elsa tells her quickly —a little _too_ quickly, and yes, that’s a thing between them.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Emma asks her. She lodges her phone between her ear and shoulder as she grabs her laptop from her desk and walks back to the couch.

She sits, firing up the computer, and grabbing her phone in her hands again.

“Nothing,”

“Oh, my, God,” Emma groans, faking her annoyance. “Just tell me, you _are_ going to tell me eventually, just out with it,”

Elsa sighs at the other end; she’s nervous, a lot more than she thinks she should be. She’s the older one, after all. She's Emma’s big sister figure for heaven’s sake, but—

But maybe that’s the thing, she’s always been the responsible one, not just lately, and in Emma’s eyes, but always. Ever since she was a little girl.

Well, maybe it was time that changed. “Are you sitting down?”

Emma frowns at the question, she can’t help it. “Yes, I’m sitting,” she tells her anyway, her voice edging with almost worriedness now. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine,” Elsa assures Emma, and this time she actually believes her.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Listen, I have my computer, and I’m on Delta’s website already, so as soon as you tell me what the devil’s up with you, I’ll jump the gun and get the tickets,” Emma can hear Elsa laughing at the other end. She smiles too; laughter with her is always a good sign. “So…”

“So…” Elsa echoes, and Emma can tell she’s pacing. “Guess what? I’m getting married!”

Emma’s jaw drops open, literally, which she hates, but… _what_? “What are you talking about, crazy?”

“I,” Elsa says, sitting on a nearby bench as it slowly dawns on her that this isn’t bad news. This is good, and Emma’s her friend, she’s going to be happy for her. (Anna was. She was absolutely thrilled, so really, Emma most likely is going to be too)

“I’ve told you about him, we met in Spain, remember?”

Emma frowns to herself, thinking back to her conversations with Elsa these past six months. “The sailor?” he’s the only man Emma remembers Elsa talking about, and she does remember clearly, when Elsa assured her, swore to her almost, that it wasn’t anything serious.

What changed huh?

“Yeah, the sailor,” Elsa replies, imagining the concern way Emma must be nodding to herself right now. “I wasn’t sure where it was going, it started getting serious very fast, which isn’t like me at all, that’s why I didn’t tell you more about him before,”

Emma can understand that, really, she can, but still… “Marriage Elsa?”

“Yes,” Elsa sighs, but she’s smiling too and she hopes by the end of the conversation Emma is too. “He’s, I don’t know, he’s changed my life, Emma, I don’t know how else to explain it,”

And _that_ , that does it for Emma. She smiles widely before she knows it, and then nods to herself. “You are completely crazy, but if you are happy Elsa, then so am I,” and she can hear Elsa laughing again, and that makes _her_ happy.

“You are going to come to North Carolina then? We are already here, my sister is coming tomorrow —I _really_ would like to have you with me when I do this, Emma,”

“You are kidding me, right?” Emma almost shouts into the phone —how could she _ask_ her that! “The instant you said _married,_ I clicked _buy the ticket_ my dear,” and at that, they both laugh, and yeah, it’s sudden (so freaking sudden) but sometimes life’s like that, and perhaps that’s okay. “I’ll be there tomorrow night, I can’t wait!”

/-/-/

Emma lands in Wilmington, NC, around five pm the next day. She’s pretty exhausted, and zonked out by the time she’s done with the almost two-hour drive to the resort they are _all_ staying apparently. She doesn’t even see Elsa that night, she just gives her a call, lets her gush for a moment about how happy she is she’s here, how incredible the next few days are going to be, and then they hang up.

Emma barely brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas before she’s already passed out on her made hotel bed.

She wakes up the next morning and she can already tell is still early (too early)

She’s groggy as she pads her way to the bathroom. She washes her face, scrambles her suitcase in search of something to remove her makeup from yesterday (why she bothered putting any still a mystery to her)

Still, after she’s done, Emma does feel much better. She went to bed relatively early last night, so even though it’s not even quite seven am yet, she truly doesn’t feel like she needs to go back to sleep. She walks to the window instead; she opens the curtains and takes in the view. She can see the ocean on one side, the pool below, and what seems like a beautiful walking path to her left.

Suddenly she is itching to just go there.

So she does, she changes out of her pajamas, and into some khaki shorts and an orange loose shirt she loves. She puts on some sandals, and goes downstairs with nothing but a book in her hands.

Emma’s not disappointed when she steps out; the weather is just as lovely as she thought it was going to be. It isn’t terribly warm yet, but it definitely isn’t cold either. The sun is out, and the little breeze that blows her hair is on the side of warm. She likes it.

She has no idea how much she has been needing a break until she steps out of the hotel this morning.

There’s people at the pool already, not too many, one person lying on one of those white chairs, while a family with two small children are braving the cold water of the pool.

Emma smiles to herself when she hears the screeches from the children’s mom when she joins the little ones in the pool.

The walking path is beautiful, there’s a lot of green, edged by trees on both sides. There are also flowers though, colorful kinds she’s not sure she’s seen before. The air here is a bit heavier than when she was closer to the building, but she finds it she likes it. Some of the trees have little bird houses hanging from them. Most of them do, actually.

The branches seem to form into an arch with one another the further Emma walks. She passes a few benches, wanting to go in a little deeper before setting down with her book.

Besides, the passage is so beautiful —if she didn’t know any better, she’d say it came straight out of a storybook. It is _that_ beautiful.

Eventually she does sit down, she’s not exactly tired, but she figures she’s found a nice middle between the start of the trail and the end.

She’s lost in her book before she realizes it. The breeze is still warm, and she’s happy just relaxing for a moment, lost to everything and everyone.

 

Emma sure as hell doesn’t notice when someone walks closer to her spot.

She doesn’t notice when he freezes.

When he’s sure his eyes are playing tricks on him, and there is no way (absolutely no fucking way) _she_ is truly here right now.

Emma doesn’t see when he dabs his eyes, willing the hallucination to fade from existence. She misses when he actually reaches to pinch his own arm.

When nothing happens though, he picks up walking. He’s closer to her now, a lot closer than he was before, and yet she’s still so completely lost in that book she’s reading, she hasn’t noticed.

It’s a struggle, but he finds a way to even out his breathing. There is no way he can show her how much this (seeing her) is affecting him. He needs to work on the perfect mask if he plans to survive this encounter.

That, assuming he truly hasn’t gone completely crazy and this is in fact a hallucination, or a dream or something. And anyway, maybe he’s not even here. Maybe he’s still asleep and just hasn’t been able to wake up. Maybe—

He has to stop thinking all together when her eyes fucking shift from her book and she looks over _at him_.

_Bloody hell_

His mouth drops open, for a beat, just one single beat before he recovers (he forces himself to recover) “Emma Swan,” he drawls out, as if inwardly he’s not still dying. “I do declare,”

She’s quiet. She’s looking at him, but she’s quiet. She thinks she heard what he said, he said her name all right, and he looks like him, like Killian, _her_ Killian, but…

There is no way he’s really here, right?

Right?

“How long has it been?” Emma finds herself asking —suddenly, she doesn’t care how or why he’s here, only that he _is_ here, and, _my God_ , it really has been _too_ long since they’ve seen each other.

She bites her lips, and Killian knows she’s just as absolutely nervous as he is, but she’s showing it, she’s not trying to hide it behind a joke or stupid questions about why or how he’s here, she’s just taking him in, slowly feeling the pain of the days, weeks, and months they haven’t seen each other.

“A couple years, love,”

_love_

But it’s been more than that, and she knows it. She feels like she’s going to cry, it’s been over _three years—_ it’s been _at least_ three whole years since she’s _seen him_. It makes her heart ache, it really does.

She smiles sadly at him, she’s not even sure why she does it, she’s not sure of anything right now.

She puts her book down beside her on the bench, and after taking in a deep breath, she gets up. They are separated by a couple feet, not much, and he’s looking at her so intently —as if he’s cataloging every little detail that has changed in her since the last time they saw each other.

Killian finds himself returning her smile after a beat. He’s struggling to contain his emotions; part of him is of course angry (at the two of them) for staying away for so long, but the other part of him, the bigger part of him, is simply so bloody happy to see her.

To see her well, and Heaven’s, she’s beautiful! She’s even more beautiful than he remembers and fuck, doesn’t that just hurt his heart a little more.

He gulps, taking a couple tentative steps closer to her. Killian thanks God when she doesn’t step back. She does the opposite actually, she meets him halfway, and if either is sure about what they are doing (what they are _going_ to do) they don’t show it.

They are both a mess of nerves and newly re-found feelings, and it’s too much, but at the same time—

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him, her voice breaking, trembling, so soft and _fuck,_ still so broken but… _her._ She’s _really here,_

“Oh Swan,” Killian says, his voice a soft whisper as they close the final gap between them and just like that, they are hugging each other.

He wishes he could say he’s hugging _her_ , comforting _her,_ but the reality is that he’s not sure he’d be able to stand if not for her arms around him too.

“You are bloody maddening, love, you’re stubborn, and, I, and…it,” he’s trying to be mad, to tell her everything he wishes he has been able to tell her for such a long time, but his voice breaks, and she’s sniffling, her face tucked close to his neck, her warm breath making every single one of his hairs there stick up.

“It just has been too long,”

And yes, that’s right, it’s been far too long, and the ache in her heart is proof of that fact.

When she pulls back, her hand stays over at his heart, she can feel it pounding wildly, just like hers is. She looks up at him —properly this time. And he’s changed, my God, he has. Those silly lines by his eyes are more pronounced now —those form when he smiles, and he smiles and flirts _a lot_ , it’s no wonder he has them.

Before she knows it, she’s smiling, tears still in her eyes, but she still smiles. He has a bit of a scar on his cheek, just above that trail of light brown freckles he has on that side of his face.

She wonders where he got it, but before she can make it too far with that thought, she feels Killian’s finger tucked under her chin, gently making her look up. Look into his eyes, and she does, and yeah, those are just as blue as she remembers. It warms her heart. At least a couple things about him haven’t changed.

“Do _not_ comment on the scruff, love,”

And suddenly she’s laughing, _really_ laughing, and it’s so silly, this should be different. This should be awkward and weird, and they shouldn’t just fall back into their old rhythms like this. She shouldn’t have been seconds away from commenting on yes, his five or six day scruff that is truly getting a little out of hand.

“You are impossible,”

Killian shrugs a shoulder at her statement —which is what that is, it’s a statement, not a joke or a comment, just a statement of who he is.

He’s glad to know she’s still Emma. His Emma, the one that never ever holds back and just tells him how much of a prick he is sometimes.

He doesn’t answer, instead just reaches out, his arm wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against his side, and it’s the happiest he has been in years.

_But why is that?_

Why is it that even though he has a good life —a _really_ good life, with meaningful friendships and relationships, and people, _so many_ people around him, the second he saw her again, he realized what a gigantic hole he’s had inside him all this time.

It was an Emma sized hole. There is no doubt of that in his mind, but now, with her in his arms and the ache in his heart little by little lessening, he smiles.

He smiles and kisses her hair. “I've missed you much too much, love,”

/-/-/

They sit eventually. Emma moves her book out of the way and instead sits beside Killian on the bench.

They manage to respect each other’s personal space for all of two minutes before he was reaching an arm around her again and pulling her to his side.

And for one reason or the other, it _isn't_ completely strange.

There is still some lingering shock at having found each other, _here,_ of all random places in the world. But slowly that shock is wearing off as well.

“You're almost all finished with school now, huh?”

“Yes, just about.” She wonders for just a moment how come he knows, but it really isn't that surprising that he's kept tabs on her these past few years.

If Emma weren't so stupid, she would have been brave enough to ask David about him so many times.

Alas, she _is_ stupid and a coward a lot sometimes, so she hasn't.

Every few weeks or so she will check his Facebook page though. It's not like Killian is big using Facebook though, but every once in a while he’ll have a night out or fun outing with his _mates_ and they would inevitably always end up tagging him in some pics.

Emma always looks forward to those.

Perhaps that can change now. Perhaps this is the overly random event that will _maybe, just maybe,_ reconnect them and allow them to find a _real_ place in each other’s lives again.

One can hope, right? “Took me long enough,”

“Ah,” he lets out, immediately turning to fix her with one of those stern, yet silly looks of his. “There's that self-deprecating tone of yours,” he shakes his head, looking at her knowingly.

It should bother her, Emma thinks, but the truth is that it doesn't. Even after all this time, he still can see right through her crap and she can't particularly say she minds.

“I can't say that I've missed that one, lass,”

Emma smiles, shaking her head just slightly.

“How are you Emma?”

And there he is. She feels her throat closing and the pain of all those months of silence hitting her full force.

But then his hand takes hers and she's thankful. He's an anchor _—her_ anchor and she's never been more glad to have him back. Through so many of those storms in her life, he's been _her_ unmovable anchor, keeping her steady just by the strength of his love, his faith in her.

Emma allows herself to hold his hand back. She intertwines their fingers and out of the corner of her eye can see the half smile he's trying so hard not to smile.

The idiot, always wanting to pretend he doesn't care nearly as much as he does.

Oh, but she knows better. She knows _him._ “Life’s...not completely bad these days actually,”

“Yeah?”

Their eyes meet, and his are sparkling, she's not sure with what, but her best guess is just plain happiness.

She chuckles. “Yeah,”

He's studying her face, looking for a lie, Emma thinks, but when he can't find any, he ends up smiling and giving a nod. “I'm glad,”

“You?”

“I'm well, love,”

He's not lying either.

Emma squeezes his hand making him look her way. Their eyes meet. She doesn't even have to ask him to elaborate; he already knows that he has too. “I graduated,” he tells her.

And it should make her so happy, and truth is, it does, but it also feels like a pang of pain that twists her heart —she _missed it._

He squeezes her hand then.

When Emma looks at him, Killian shakes his head. He doesn't say it but she hears it nonetheless, “ _it doesn't matter.”_

“I got a job, I get paid, it appears I've finally become a functioning adult, what do you know, Swan? I finally did it!”

(Oh, she loves him)

She's smiling wider than imaginable and she doesn't care that he knows how much she loves (how much she's missed) his stupid corny jokes.

“I'm proud of you, you know?” Emma’s not expecting him to just take the compliment, so she chuckles when his head ducks and his face scrunches just so, as he reaches to scratch that stupid spot behind his ear.

It truly makes her happy that he still does that. She's known him since he was a scrawny little boy, and even back then he had that twitch to scratch his ear when he was nervous or didn't know what to say.

“I am,” Emma promises him once more, just for good measure. “You've made a life for yourself, that's amazing, Killian,”

This time he doesn't avert his eyes —not too much anyway. He breathes out deeply instead. “Aye, love, thank you,”

Emma simply nods, tightening her hold on his hand and shifting to rest her head on his shoulder.

It makes him laugh but it also prompts him to hold her to him a little tighter and that's nice.

“Tell me about you, huh?”

“I'm okay,”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, and that's it for a little while.

Emma decides in that moment that she wants to tell _him_. She wants to tell Killian _everything._ No one else truly knows everything —Elsa is the only who knows a few details, but even she doesn't know half the story.

Emma has kept it mostly to herself this last year. She's been afraid to share anything, afraid letting people in, too much, will ruin everything.

But this is Killian. She can't just not tell him.

“I wanna show you something,”

And before he can process what she's saying, Emma’s moving from his side and instead reaching down for that book she was reading before.

Killian’s eyebrows are lifted when she looks over at him again. “What is it?”

She shrugs, opening the book and taking out the small photograph she has been using as a bookmark.

Without overthinking this more, she just passes it over to Killian. Emma doesn't focus in his reaction, doesn't even look at his face, instead focuses in the way he's so delicately holding onto the photograph.

She thinks most likely she's going to have to explain, but then—

“Is this your lad, love?”

Of course he just knows. “He is,” she tells him with a small nod. “I met him a little over a year ago,”

She waits for a reaction this time but as she guessed, nothing comes. He just half smiles, his eyes softly scanning the little boy in the picture.

“He's almost six now,”

“God,”

“I know,”

He's quiet after that, still looking at that picture and she wonders just what he's looking at, just how much he can study it, but then she remembers how much time _she's_ spent looking at that very picture that maybe it shouldn't be weird that Killian needs to do the same.

“They live in a small town in Maine,” Emma starts telling him, his eyes still solely on the picture. “His mom contacted me all the way in California a while ago,”

He doesn't shift his eyes from the picture, but still asks, “Why? I don't get it. I thought it was supposed to be a closed adoption?”

“It was,”

He nods but he's only half-listening, eyes burning holes in that picture of her little boy still.

“She was worried about Henry; he's started asking questions about his family. His mom, his adoptive mom, she's a single lady, she's on the prickly, rather strict side for sure, but she cares about Henry a lot,”

“Henry?”

And for some reason he decides now’s the moment to finally meet her eyes.

Emma nods simply. “Yeah, she named him Henry,”

He gets a look on his face at that; it's a weird one, Emma can't exactly read it.

“What?”

“That's the name _you_ have chosen for him, isn't it?”

And he doesn't mean anything, she knows, but the question still throws her off because she's never told that to anyone. Not even Killian.

“How do you know that?”

“It is, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You let it slip once,” Killian explains. “You were mad at me, I'm pretty sure you were shouting, you told me I had no idea what giving him up was like. I think it was something of the lines of me not getting at all what _Henry_ meant to you, back then anyway,”

“I don't remember that,”

“You were quite upset, lass,”

Emma nods, but it's still unsettling a little.

Killian's head tilts and he grabs her hand once more. This time he doesn't just squeeze it but also brings it to his lips, kissing each one of her knuckles once.

“You were telling me about the lad?”

“Right,” Emma says, shaking her head, ignoring with all her might how it feels to have _him_ this close again. He's like a freaking tornado, Killian. Waking up each and every feeling she didn't think she had for him anymore.

(fuck)

“He was asking all these questions, so Regina, his mom, she's in a position with a bit of power, she cut through a bunch of red tape I guess, and found me. She contacted me via email, reminding me I had no rights or duties toward Henry, but then also told me the kid would like to meet me if I was ever interested,”

“And you were?”

She scoffs and isn't surprised when Killian is smiling at her knowingly. “Not at first,” she can't lie to him, she just can't. “Not for a long time,”

He wants to tell her that she should have told him. He would have been there for her. He knows, he just knows how terribly she must have freaked out —

“I didn't know how to tell you,”

And the fact that she can read his mind should be unsettling, right?

It isn't for some reason, though.

“I wanted to, so many times but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, I'm sorry,”

“Don't be. It's okay,”

“Yeah,” she sighs, closing her eyes for a beat too long before once more, locking her eyes with his. “I finally agreed to meet him last summer,”

“How did it go?”

She scoffs again at the question and he nods —yeah yeah, he can imagine how it might have gone.

“He's such a smart kid. You'd like him Killian. He's so chatty, so so chatty; I don't think I ever get more than a few words in every time we speak,”

Which means she has kept in touch after their first meet. Killian can’t help but feel happy about that.

“I've only gone down to Maine twice to see him; they came to California for thanksgiving last year too. His very own Disneyland adventure, I saw him then too. But mostly he just sends drawings in the mail sometimes, or I send him postcards and sometimes we talk on the phone,”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

“That's nice Swan, I'm glad to hear that,”

She nods, breathing so much easier having shared this not just with anyone, but _with Killian. “_ When they came to Cali, I actually got to spent most of two days just with him. I picked him up in the morning, took him to the parks, rode all those rides with him, got to really know him on our own, that was quite nice too,”

“I'd wager it was,”

“I'm moving back home, you know? After graduation, I'm moving back,”

“Excuse me?”

Oh she knows she shouldn't, but that look of shock in his face is too much for Emma to take and she finds herself crackling.

“Emma”

“Killian,” she tells him mockingly but he's so not finding any of this amusing.

This part, she hasn't told anyone at all. _Anyone._ “I'm not his mother all right? I —or,”

“You _are_ his mother,”

She deflates, damn him for knowing her so well. “I am,” she agrees. “I don't regret giving him up, he's had a great life, he's a happy little kid, I wouldn't want to change the way things happened, but,”

“Now things are different,”

“Yeah,”

She's healed. That much Killian can feel. She’s still his Emma all right, but she's done much healing these past few years and he can just _feel it._

(Heavens, it makes him happy)

“Regina, his mom, she's allowing me to have some part in his life, and honestly, however small this part may be, I want it. I love him, you know?”

His lips form a thin line, as he nods understandingly. He knows she does. He's known ever since she told him she was pregnant all those years ago. He's known from the moment she told him with tears streaming down her face how much she didn't wish to screw up her child.

He knows all right.

“You're moving back then…”

“Yes. It just makes sense you know? Out in Cali I'm safe and away from my past and everything I wanted to block so badly for so long, but —I’ve also been away from the people I love the most, and now with Henry, I don't want to be half the country away from him, you know? It'll be nice to know we are just a car ride away at all times,”

The way he's smiling at her, Emma knows he gets it. He gets _her._

(God, she wishes he knows he's one of those people she loves most and has missed until her heart ached)

(night in and night out)

/-/-/

They decide to finish walking the trail. It’s a happy surprise when they encounter the ocean at the end.

Killian always has had the ocean in his veins. It used to just bring him life, make him smile, and simply put him at ease.

Emma realizes _that_ hasn’t changed about him when he smiles —wide, oh, so wide— when they are at the end of the trail. When the gravel has been replaced with sand, and the water, so stunning, bright, and blue, _so blue_ , is right there in front of them.

“Shall we?”

And she can’t say no. That smile he’s offering, it is too much and she can’t refuse him, even if she wanted. His smile, it’s an invitation, she knows. It’s a bridge even —a peace offering, a bridge she can either take or not, but not taking it, would mean burning said bridge, and Emma simply can not afford that.

“Yeah,” she tells him, and it’s a whisper he probably doesn’t even hear.

He does _see_ when she nods though, when she matches his smile, and when she then swings their jointed hands as they start moving closer to the water before them.

 _Killian_ reached to hold her hand sometime during their walk. Emma is still convincing herself about how it isn’t a big deal —it truly isn’t. She remembers when they were younger, they would walk home together, he’d drop her off before heading to his place, and sometimes, most times, they would hold hands. But it was never in a romantic gesture.

Never ever.

Well —at least that’s Emma’s story and again, she’s sticking to it.

The sit on the sand, they both by then have kicked off their sandals and flip-flops, and the sand is clean and warm against their toes.

He’s wiggling his, burying them in the sand, and then peeking them out with silly little wiggles shaking all the sand off him.

They are quiet for now; both watching over the water, the horizon. Every once in a while looking at each other too, but only for small moments before looking away.

The beach is quiet, they can’t see anyone wandering this early in the morning yet, and for that, they are grateful.

Emma leans onto his side eventually, her head on his shoulder as he keeps playing with the sand by his toes. And the comfort he gives her, just by being there, by resting his own head on hers, is something Emma wasn’t even aware how much she’s missed.

_Him._

Stubborn, loyal, madding, funny, so loving and _him,_ just him.

They are sitting close enough to the water now, that if the tide were to pick up, she knows they would get inevitably wet. That would be something that’ll make Killian laugh. It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened to them, but she knows he still gets a kick out of all the silly things that sometimes happen to them when they out exploring or whatever.

Which is something they haven’t done in years.

Literal years.

It hits her then that she still doesn’t know just _why_ the two of them are together right now…

“Killian,”

“Uh oh,” he recognizes that tone she used. Oh, he does, all right. She even picks up her head from his shoulder then. He finds himself swallowing hard before he looks over at her. “Is everything okay, love?”

He sounds so nervous. As though completely terrified at the possibility of having done something wrong. Of having messed this up, whatever this is, somehow already.

And it is her fault, Emma knows. If she were a better friend, then this wouldn’t be his reaction to her simply calling his name.

“Love?”

Right, she hasn’t answered. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assures him sadly. She meets his eyes properly then, and without thought turns completely to face him and cups his cheeks in her hands. “I _missed_ you, and I love you, and I still consider you my best friend, all right? I know I don’t deserve your loyalty, or _you,_ just you, you’ve always been too good to me, and I…I suck, Killian, and I am so so sorry for that,”

“Love…”

Emma sighs, dropping her hands from his face.

He waits a beat before adjusting his angle, and returning Emma the gesture. He gently, _oh, so_ gently and tenderly, reaches for her face. His hands are big, long fingers cupping so many inches of her face.

She gulps, just watching him, his eyes, his nose, his stupidly precious freckles, his mouth, that itty bitty tip of his tongue that sticks out as he concentrates in order to say the right thing.

He’s done that for as long as she can remember, and yet right now it makes her belly feel as though a thousand wild butterflies have run free, and her cheeks, dear God, her cheeks feel as though they are burning.

Still—

Then he speaks, and everything melts away.

“I don’t need or want your apologies, all right?”

“Killian,”

“I truly don’t want them,”

And he’s serious, she _knows_ he’s being absolutely serious.

Emma nods.

“The last few years have sucked without you —truly, deeply sucked. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to just _speak_ to _you_ sometimes. It made my chest ache knowing that wasn’t a choice, but love, I understand. You did what you needed to do to move on, and I will never hold that against you.”

The tears in her eyes are back, but she decides she’s broken down enough times in his arms today alone, and so she fights them.

“You thought about yourself first, what you needed to do to get better, to move past all those aches in your heart, and I know it hasn’t been easy, it probably still isn’t, but my God, Emma, you do not suck for doing this. For the contrary, I’m so proud of you for making a life for yourself. For making your own decisions in spite of what the world was saying, or your own insecurities,”

And he’s right, fuck, he’s right about everything and hearing him saying the words is almost too much for her to properly handle.

“I regret every day that I didn’t let _you_ in,”

“Oh Emma,”

Her eyes fall, and she shakes her head. The stubborn tears fall from her eyes, but she’s holding back the big stuff. “That’s my only regret about this all, you know?” And that’s truth.

“I know I made the right choice for Henry, I know I did what was best for me when I left town, but you? You mean so much to me and I just shut you out. I really wish I’ve handled things differently.”

She isn’t apologizing anymore, as he asked her not to, but she still needs him to hear the facts.

And she feels better, can breathe a little easier when he nods his head and leans in kissing her forehead.

“Were you going to tell me you are moving back home?”

“Possibly?”

“Swan,”

And this time there is a bit of lightness and playfulness in the way he called her name, and maybe she’s crazy, but suddenly Emma just knows they are going to be okay.

Her lips twitch upwards slightly as their eyes lock, and he lifts that one eyebrow of his as if there is no tomorrow. It takes everything she has in herself not to laugh right then. “You want the truth?”

He doesn’t answer; his eyebrows instead lift much higher than before.

 _All right then_ , truth’s a given with him —got it. “I haven’t told anyone I’m moving back. Anyone at all,” she tells him, and she can see it in his face how surprised he is to hear that. “I’ve already made arrangements, I’m driving my car back, it’s going to take me somewhere between 7 and, heck, maybe fourteen or fifteen days? Half those days I’m going to be dying and wishing I’ve chosen air travel, but the other half I’ll be okay, so I’m doing it. I haven’t rented a place yet, but I’ve been working on that all this week and last week —it’s not that easy to apartment hunt across country, but I’m figuring it out. I’ve started sending out resumes, and it’s going to take some time, but I know I’ll be back on my feet soon.”

His hands lift to her face once more, and she has to fight to urge to melt (right freaking then and there) at the way his thumbs are absently stroking the apple of her cheeks.

_fuck_

“I figured once I was back, once I’ve told David...word would get to you and you’ll reach out,” and she hates herself for always counting on the fact that _he would reach out._ She knows he would have, that’s just who he is, who he has always been, and she should be better than this, but, really, she isn’t yet. She’s still insecure as hell at her core. She still panics every time she feels the urge to text him during a random day, but remembers she can’t, because it’s been over three years since he’s texted her and there is no way she can be the one texting him first.

Which is completely stupid, because she can, and she should (she should have so badly so many times over. He deserved as much for one thing) but she _is_ stupid and there has been no human power strong enough to make her contact him first.

Not after all that time has passed.

“I would have reached out eventually,”

And she scoffs, or…makes a sound that sounds like a scoff —it’s maybe more of a laugh, but then she also shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I know you would have, Killian,” she swallows hard meeting those eyes of him. The ocean beside them is beautiful, an absolute marvel this time of day —the beauty of it however, doesn’t compare in the slightest to the beauty of his eyes boring into her.

It doesn’t even come close.

_she loves him. so fucking much._

“Why though?”

And he shrugs, finally dropping his hands from her face and looking away with a shake of his head. “Because love, you are you, you are Emma Swan, and I missed you loads, and I love you, and you are still my best friend too,”

He doesn’t meet her eyes again right away, he waits, his eyes focused in the immensity and vastness of the ocean.

But then when she doesn’t speak for longer than he deems necessary, he looks over at her, and of course she’s smirking.

And it should make him annoyed, that she’s teasing him already, but he isn’t at all. He’s absolutely thrilled and happy, and there’s nothing in the world more beautiful than a real smile on her face.

_bloody hell. if only she was aware of how very non-platonic his declaration of love had been..._

For years, he’s been falling for her, _years and years._ Time and distance apparently haven’t done the trick and he’s still just as in love with her as he was before she walked out of his life.

_he’s so fucked_

“What?”

“You _are_ a dork,” she’s joking, finally having given up trying not to smile and instead doing it fully. The grin he returns is a little more amused than she thinks is necessary, but still…that isn’t the point. “And I really don’t deserve you, not at all, but I am still really glad you are here, Killian,”

Killian’s mocking grin drops at those words. He wants to tell her that there is no such thing as she having to _deserve_ him, but…he already knows that’s going to be a lost battle, so instead he nods.

“I’m rather pleased I’m here, too, Swan,” he tells her —in case she hasn’t realized that by now on her own already.

Her mouth opens to tell him she’s glad to hear that, but then something _else_ completely different crosses her mind.

She frowns.

“What? What?”

And he’s panicking again, but this time _she_ doesn’t panic, she just rolls her eyes. She’s going to have to start working hard on reassuring him she’s not going anywhere this time, but for now, she needs an answer to the most pressing question in her mind right now.

“What are you doing _here_ anyway Killian?”

And it seemingly hasn’t hit him until then. The fact that of all places in the world, they just so happened to run into each other at this resort. In North Carolina of all places. He’s never even been here in his life before.

He’s almost positive Emma hasn’t either.

Still,

“Having a lovely conversation by the beach with a lovely friend from my childhood?” he tries, precious smile in place but Emma still looks unamused. It doesn’t discourage him though. At all. This is how it is between them. Playful and silly, serious and heavy, all and everything in between. That’s just how it is.

Or how it used to be anyway —but after today, Killian damn well intends to rebuild their relationship.

Not to how it used to be, precisely.

But to something better, perhaps. To a place when even when shit happens, because it will happen, Emma will not feel as though cutting herself from her life and everything she knows is the only solution.

It’s going to be hard work, he knows, the road there isn’t going to be easy, but Emma —Emma is worth it.

She’s worth everything to him.

“Well, Swan, I’m here for a wedding,”

And for a second she considers it being _his_ wedding, but no, God, no—

“I’m the best man and all,”

 _Right_. “You are?”

This time she even smiles as she asks him the question, her face soft and peaceful. It’s been so long since she’s been this relaxed during one of their conversations. It warms him up so completely from the outside in.

“Aye, love,”

And her smile grows and Killian’s sure so has his heart.

_bloody hell_

“Big brother Liam is giving his kid brother the chance, would you believe that?”

“Liam?” Part of Emma wants to tease him about referring to himself as the kid brother (something he used to hate when Liam did back in the day —kid brother and baby brother, would make his blood boil, and yet…

“Liam himself, aye,”

Emma’s eyes are so wide he wants to laugh, tell her is not _that_ impossible that his brother has found a girl that loves him enough to marry him, but then those eyes of hers are so fucking distracting.

In the light of the early morning, they look just _so_ green, and big. He’s almost sure he can see her very own soul if he stares into them long enough.

But then of course Emma slaps his arm when the idea of Liam getting married is apparently more than she can handle.

And God, she starts laughing before Killian has the chance to put a word in, and that sound, Heavens above, he’s missed that sound.

His lips form a thin line. Killian watches her laugh and shake her head, so carefree as if truly nothing else matters and it’s just them catching up.

_(he wants to kiss her)_

“Liam Jones, married, Gosh…” she bites her lip, looking ahead at the ocean, just trying to picture _Liam_ —he that has always been so serious and proper. Always so concerned about his _little brother._ Emma knows him, Liam is the kind of guy that is always _doing_. As soon as he was of age, he got Killian out of the system. Got them an apartment, the smallest little thing at first, but he was so determined to move up in the world, and he’s done it. _He_ brought up Killian, all on his freaking own, and just for that Emma respects the man.

She always saw him as a grown up in the body of a young man. She never truly imagined him falling in love and experiencing all those things he seemed to not have time for, when they were younger.

But of course he has, and in all honesty, it makes her so happy. So so happy for him.

 

Killian is focusing solely on her face, the way she’s smiling, rambling about Liam, but all he sees is her lips moving, her eyes widening more and more as she takes in the news.

He watches her and his heart feels fuller than it’s been in years, but at the same time, it also hurts a bit.

Especially when he sees the way she frowns eventually, she’s stopped talking, and is still looking out at the ocean when it happens.

“You okay love?” His voice sounds hoarse, vulnerable —he hates it, and wills himself not to let that happen again.

And she nods, but he doesn’t buy it.

“Hey,”

Emma turns around to face him then. “Your brother is getting married,”

And perhaps Killian should need more explaining than that, but he doesn’t. Growing up the way they had, he gets what she’s feeling. Yes, she and Killian were best friends, but—

If Killian ever needed David, he knew he was going to come through for him. It was the same for Emma and Liam. Liam is the oldest of their group; Emma always respected him and looked up to him. And Liam certainly always cared for her too.

They definitely never had the same kind of relationship that she and Killian do, but they were still _close_. Close in the way family simply is close.

She never considered him getting married, which is a little stupid, he’s still just a man after all, regardless of how much they all idolize him and look up to him. But now that she’s thought about it some, it hurts that _Liam_ is fucking getting married and the only reason Emma heard about it, is because fate or whatever made her run into Killian this morning.

“It’s been really sudden love, I swear,”

And _fuck him_ for reading her thoughts, but, who is she kidding, she loves him so much for it too. She closes her eyes breathing deeply a few times before tilting her head and meeting those impossibly blue eyes of his. “We are talking about _Liam,_ right? _”_

“Aye, I know, believe me, _I know_ , but he didn’t tell us a word about it until it was just a done deal and he needed a best man apparently,”

“Liam freaking Jones? _Captain Jones_?”

“Aye, the very one,”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,”

“Am not, Swan,”

He shrugs at her helplessly, smiling that smile that isn’t flirtatious for once, but is just happy and innocent.

It makes her _smile_.

“I believe Dave sent you an email about this,”

“What?” _David! What? Fuck!_ “Wait! Do you mean my brother is here _too_?” She asks, but it’s such a stupid question to ask. Of course, David is here! He’s Liam’s freaking best friend!

And he emailed her about this?

Emma sighs, suddenly feeling like shit.

Literal shit.

About three years ago, she mostly stopped using her regular email address. The one she created at school amidst all her classmates in the freaking third grade.

That one has been the only email she used for years, the one Killian, David, everyone back home used to contact her when she was AWOL and not answering her phone.

Three years ago, she created a new account —for her new life, she convinced herself at the time.

At first, she used to check her old account every few days, but then, then it was every few weeks, and sometimes even months.

She would always end up crying after checking it, which is why she stopped doing it as often. Killian used to update her on things, his favorite football team, the new pastry from whatever new coffee shop he’d tried, little nothings, yet everything.

Once _he_ stopped sending her those emails, she had stopped checking that inbox as frequently too.

Now of course she hadn’t checked to see if her brother had sent her anything about Liam and his freaking wedding.

“He could’ve called me,” Emma finds herself saying aloud.

When she looks at Killian, he’s giving her a look she doesn’t like. “Shut up,”

Oh, he’s so not going to do that, thank you very much. He’s been quiet enough as it is already. “You would have not picked up, love, need I remind you that?”

“Shut it!”

“I’m not wrong,”

No, he’s not. She rarely ever picks up a call from David these days either (because she’s awful, and sucks so much). She lets it go to voicemail, and depending on whatever his message is about, she returns the call or writes him.

Oh, she sucks, she sucks so freaking much.

Fixing her fucks up may start with Killian of course, but she also owes her brother a few two hundred apologies as well. Also probably a few to—

Oh no! “Oh, is _she_ here too? She is, isn’t she?”

And the fucking idiot smiles rather devilishly at her question. “Why, of course she is, Emma,”

Emma pouts, scrunches her face, and fake whimpers. “Why?” She asks him not really expecting a reply.

Killian in any case simply shrugs. “I believe David has never mentioned anything about you not liking her?”

Emma groans. “I don’t _don’t_ like her, she’s —Mary Margaret is, _all right._ Honestly, I don’t know her enough to say I have an actual opinion, but every time they have visited, is just so awkward.”

“How come?”

“Why? Well, eventually David and I always end up bickering and he does that thing where he pretends he’s my father and not my brother and starts getting all patronizing?” Killian’s uneasy face tells Emma he _knows_ what she’s talking about.

And she knows Killian _loves_ David, he’s yet another big brother to him, but that so doesn’t mean they can’t both admit how much her older brother can suck at times.

“I suppose that doesn’t make for a very friendly setting, eh?”

“Not especially,”

Killian scratches his scruff, the side of his face, that itchy spot behind his ear, the top of his ears, all while thinking what to tell Emma.

“Well, I suppose Dave’s going to be happy to hear you are moving back anyway. I’d wager things between you two are only going to improve, won’t you agree?”

She kind of does, actually.

Nodding, she sighs because even if that’s true, there’s still a whole lot of other things, like… “Don’t you think he’s going to judge me?”

“For what?”

“For wanting to be in Henry’s life now, what if he doesn’t approve?”

Killian frowns at that, and shakes his head. “Who bloody cares, love? This is _your_ life, not David’s; he’s going to realize that eventually, you’ll see…”

“Thank you, Killian,”

“You are welcome,”

He eyes her for all of a few seconds before just cracking a smile and reaching out, cradling her closer to him. He kisses the side of her head, firm steady kiss that lingers for a while.

Emma finds herself closing her eyes, breathing him in and just smiling too.

These last few weeks since she decided to move back home; Emma stopped herself so many times from picturing some variation of this scenario. She didn’t let herself think about how seeing him again was going to be. She would just stop herself every time the thought semi crossed her mind.

She convinced herself she hated him (never has) and he hated her (never has, _she knows_ ) and that he wasn’t even going to care she was back at all.

Oh, how very glad she is to have been so wrong.

_so fucking wrong_

“Swan,”

“Hmm,” she’s comfy, she doesn’t want to move and talk (and most likely cry some more)

She just wants Killian to hug her and kiss her head sometimes, is that really too much to ask?

Apparently her answer is a yes, because ever so helpful, Killian helps her sit up properly then.

She grumbles. “What?”

“What are _you_ doing here? Last I knew, California has rather decent beaches for you to come all the way here on a random beach vacation. Am I right?”

“Oh, that,”

“Yes, _that_ , love,”

She shrugs her shoulder, relishing in the fact that someone in her life calls _her_ love, and who cares he calls just about every girl that; Emma can pretend he doesn’t, and that’s that. “A wedding,”

“Excuse me?”

She laughs, can’t help herself if she tried. “Not mine, of course, but a friend from college, it was also a last minute kind of thing, called me up two days ago that I needed to be here for her, so…here I am,”

Emma’s expecting him to comment, of course, either on the friend part (she _knows_ he has to be curious), on the spontaneity of the trip, and the fact that she’d agreed just like that (she’s an over thinker and she knows he knows that)

And yet, all Killian does is knit his eyebrows and look at her confused.

“What? Did I grow monkeys on my face?”

“What?”

Great, he’s not even listening to what she’s saying. “What is it?”

“Two days you said?”

“Yeah,” she’s beginning to get a little annoyed, because she doesn’t know what he’s thinking about or why he suddenly went so serious and thoughtful, she only said she’s here for a wedding.

Just like _he_ is, shouldn’t be that surprising. Lots of people get married every day, don’t they?

She’s still confused, but then he slowly starts smirking, but she still doesn’t get it, and he’s looking at her like she should know what he’s thinking but she doesn’t—

Oh

But no. No way. It just…

There was no way.

No freaking way.

Her mouth drops open and Killian knows in that moment she’s finally caught on with _his_ train of thought. “Liam is marrying a Swiss girl, they met overseas, I’m pretty sure she’s graduating from a west coast school in a few weeks,”

“Shut your mouth!” Emma shakes her head, her lips a thin line as she tries like hell not to burst out laughing. “No, no, no! We are _so not_ here for the same wedding! No way!”

“Emma—”

“No!”

He chuckles, unable not to, but she’s still stubbornly shaking her head. “Swan, what’s her name?” He asks her, playfully yet with actual urgency. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“I need to call her right now!”

Dumb idiot he is, laughs some more at her then. “You didn’t bring your phone love.”

Does he _have_ to always be right? Emma groans, slapping his arm. “Give me yours then!”

“You don’t know her number love, is no use,”

 _Seriously!_ He’s just rubbing it in how much he knows her now. She sucks, completely and utterly sucks at remembering phone numbers. (she knows _his_ though)

Does Killian really need to remind her?

“Give it to me anyway,” Emma demands, shifting so that her arms and hands are at either side of him and she’s pinning him down on the sand. “I’ll call the hotel, make them put her on the line,”

“What makes you think I have the hotel’s number on speed dial?”

She hates him so much right now

_so much_

(only of course she doesn’t. She fucking loves him)

And why oh why is she pretty much straddling him right now? She can tell herself all she wants that it is just so she can find his phone (the one he clearly doesn’t have on him but decided to tease her about having anyway)

But Emma can’t admit that yet, she has to keep looking for the damn phone, because if she accepts that he doesn’t have one, then what? She’ll have to move off him—

“Love—”

“Killian!”

She shouts at him as though she doesn’t know how if he did have his phone, she would have had it minutes ago.

For her, he’ll do anything and everything. She knows it. Until the end of the world for her he’ll go.

She knows all this.

She knows all she has to do is ask and he’s there.

And yet—

“Emma Swan…” He doesn’t shout her name as she shouted his. He drawls her name out and it’s stupidly sexy, him, his accent, his eyes on hers, his eyebrows, his mouth ( _fuck, that mouth)_ but—

“What! AH! Killian!”

She’s not sure how it happens, but suddenly _she_ is on her back, hair sprawling on the warm sand beneath her —beneath _them._

He’s grabbing her wrists, securely, but not forcefully. He’s pinned them up above her head, and his head is right then all too dangerously leaning closer to her ear.

Emma closes her eyes and sucks in a breath when she feels his warm breath against the skin of her neck.

( _she’s so fucked)_

“If you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask, love,”

She doesn’t respond, she can’t. She shakes her head. Her eyes still tightly shut. She can’t do this right now. She’s feeling too much. Way, way too much.

After years of stuffing her feelings inside, suddenly feeling is more than she can handle, and maybe she doesn’t just _think_ she’s having trouble breathing, maybe she truly is.

“Hey, hey are you okay?”

And with those words she knows all the teasing is gone from him. He’s helping her sit up before she can process what’s truly going on, but, her chest — _it is_ hurting; she’s not just imagining it right?

“Breath, Swan, please,”

Oh yeah, how charming, she’s _literally_ hyperventilating.

“Kill—”

“Shush,” he coos, rubbing her back with long strong circles. “Relax, just breathe,”

It’s so obvious, of course she’ll feel better if she just breathes, the problem is she can’t, genius!

“There, there, love…”

Oh.

Okay, maybe it _is_ working.

“Just breath, there you go, slowly, in and out,”

Her heart rate seems to be slowing down a little now.

“I’ve got you, Swan, you are all right,”

She opens her mouth, breathing deeper. Suddenly she feels more aware of her surroundings again. Killian’s right beside her, his face so close to hers still, concern etched all over his features, his hand still on her back, still rubbing, still helping her.

More air seems to be making it to her lungs now, and it’s _him;_ it’s him she has to focus for the next few seconds in hopes to completely recover.

But she’s still mortified, oh, so mortified. She’s embarrassed, and truly wants the earth to open up and swallow her.

She didn’t only break down like three times on him today (after literal years of not seeing him) she had to also fucking lose her shit and hyperventilate?

“Are you a bit better?”

 _fuck_ , he sounds so concerned, so serious and protective of her.

Emma wants to just _tell him_ then.

She closes her eyes, grimacing, and Killian is back to full on worried mode again.

“Here love, let me take you back to the hotel, I’m sure they must have a doctor on call, or a nurse, or just bloody someone to hel—”

“—I have feelings for you,”

And there it is. She said it. She fucking said it.

But she can’t look. She keeps her eyes closed tightly, her hands fists as she forces (literally forces) herself to breath and not lose it again like before.

“What?”

His voice is quiet, broken almost.

She’s so sorry, so so sorry. Here she goes dumping more shit on him than he deserves.

But at least Emma has to decency to open her eyes, unscrew her face, and just look at him. She sighs, so deeply she’s sure all that air she worked so carefully to bring into her lungs is gone now.

Still, she has to do this. “I always have, I think —I just never —I didn't want to tell you, I didn't know _how_. I was too afraid it'll mess up everything, I'm still afraid of that by the way, but I just...I had to say it.”

She's determined to stop being a coward, and this, maybe finally telling him how she feels, how she's felt for so long, is a first step.

Right now, however, his gaze is starting to feel damn too strong and penetrating. It certainly feels like more that she can tolerate so Emma looks away. She averts her eyes from his, and focuses on the fringe of her shorts.

“You are my best friend and I love you for that. I've loved you like that _for years_ , but you are also so much more, and I just…I realized that hasn’t changed today,”

“Emma,”

She’s stubbornly looking out at the ocean now. Killian gives her a moment, two, before just tugging at her arm, making her look his way.

Their eyes meet for just a split second before he leans in, his eyes closing completely before Emma’s do. She’s looking at his mouth; she can’t look away.

She waits until the last possible second to close her eyes, but then—

Then his lips are touching hers, and he’s not even fully kissing her mouth, more so the corner, just that sweet tiny spot where the curves of her lips meet. And it’s such a loving thing, a caress that just barely touches her skin yet she feels it deep in her soul.

It’s magical, but—

“Wait,” as much as she may want this, she —she can’t, can she? “What— what’s this?”

“A kiss, you daft woman,”

Emma frowns at his answer, and more so when he then chuckles.

“Don’t give me that look love. I’ve waited years to kiss you,”

She wants to tell him that she doesn’t understand, that he has no idea what he’s saying, but then he tilts his head, and smirks.

“What?”

“Well, I suppose, I’ve waited years to kiss you _for real_ ,”

“What?”

“Hey, don’t think I forgot about that camping trip with our class seventh grade,”

Emma can’t help looking down mortified at the memory. Oh, no, why? WHY?

“You were so pissed at that punk Diego for saying you didn’t know how to kiss,”

To be honest, she didn’t know how to kiss _then,_ but well…

“I had no idea what I was doing that night either, I just knew if I was ever to kiss a girl — _really_ kiss a girl for the first time, then I was bloody blessed it was you, Swan,”

“What are you talking about?”

He offers Emma a little shrug, just a little thing that he hopes conveys how little he’s sure about anything, but how in spite of that, he will not pretend this isn’t likely one of their most important conversations. “ _Love_ , I guess,”

“You—”

“I have feelings for you, too, Emma Swan,”

“But—” She can’t even articulate her thoughts. Is like an overload of information that seems simply too great to be true. “All this time…”

“I could tell you the same thing to you, love,”

And he’s right. Her shoulders sag, and oh, so helplessly she tries smiling at him. “I was scared,”

Killian nods, softly smiling back at her. “I know,” he says, and she believes him one hundred percent. “So was I,”

And now Emma’s the one nodding, understanding. She lifts her hand from where it was digging in the sand, and then shakes the sand off, placing it palm up between them.

Killian ridiculously fails at trying to wink at her, before he reaches for her hand and holds it into his own securely.

“I still am,” he tells Emma then after a beat. She looks at him, slightly confused, so he elaborates. “Scared I mean,” and again she nods because she gets it.

“Especially after all this time,”

“No, not really love,”

“No?”

“Nope, I love you; that doesn't change because of time and distance. Not for us,” that isn’t it, and so help him, he’s going to make Emma see it. “You are one of the most important people in my life, Emma. If anything, I’m completely ecstatic and thrilled to have you back, love,”

Sweet idiot, he is. She smiles in spite of everything and nods her head. The feeling is so damn mutual.

“But that’s the thing; you’re _coming back —_ I don’t want you to do that again, all right? Just _stay_. I swear to you, it doesn’t matter how completely fucked up whatever situation seems, _stay._ I’ll chase you to the end of the world love, that’s not the issue; I'll go after you as long as I have to. But, I don't know, maybe you can just make this easier on us, and stop running?”

Despite how very serious Emma knows he is, she can’t help the laugh, —the actual laugh— that escapes her at his words.

She doesn’t miss the way he frowns in that moment, and she has to reassure him, she knows, this thing between them may not even work. Who knows, and maybe three weeks from now they can well be screaming at each other what selfish stubborn assholes they are, but even then, even with that in mind, she can’t help how full her heart feels.

How complete and happy she feels.

“So, you _love_ me too?”

“Aye,”

She narrows her eyes a little, eying him curiously until his own eyebrows shoot up in mild confusion. “Not like a little sister kind of love then?”

Oh how very Emma to rectify with him the very legitimacy of his feelings before moving forward. Killian can't help the breathy laugh that escapes him. “No, love, this is definitely not any sort of familiar sisterly love,” it hasn't been like that for _years. “_ More like the one where I get to kiss you, and hug you and…and take you out on dates and where you introduce me to your family and it's awkward and I have to hear from your brother his over-protective dad speech before telling him all about my intentions with his baby sister.”

And he _is_ an idiot. If she didn't know it before, Emma knows it now without a shadow of a doubt. She could tease him right now, for being a dork and saying all the right things, but instead she finds herself smiling softly at him.

“Care to share with me what _are_ your intentions with me then?”

It's such an obvious question, but he'll answer it. If only just for the sake of humoring her. “Why, to make you happy of course, love,” and he's not just saying that. He means it, and it's a promise. As much he hopes Emma sees. “That's it, I just want you to be happy Emma; you deserve it,”

“So do you,”

He knows she means it too, knows it by the way she's smiling at him and ever so slowly inching closer to him. He knows she means that and it makes his heart feel so impossibly full.

Killian nods at her, angling his body and his face so that it's easier to kiss her.

And Emma knows that’s what he wants to do, she sees him licking his lips and using one of his hands to cup the side of her face. This time he is pulling them closer and she's nervous, her belly is a pool filled with butterflies once more, but it's the right kind of nervousness, and she'll do anything to feel like this more often.

“Is okay if I…?” Killian lets his question trail off when he sees her smirking. _Great_ , at the very least she finds him amusing.

“Yeah, it’s okay, you _can_ kiss me,” and she surely doesn't mean for her voice to sound so out of breath but it is what it is and she's not disappointed by the ginormous smile that spreads on his face at her words. “I mean, you've been wanting to do this again since the 7th grade, right? It's probably about time,”

Her attempts at deflecting and joking are all in vain. He sees right through that last wall of fake coolness. He knows this means to her just as much as it does to him. Truly, the fact that she's comfy enough to joke about _this_ with him right now, is a _huge_ thing.

The fact that his heart feels like it's going to explode if he doesn't kiss her already, is a different story all together.

“It _is_ about damn bloody time, love,” Killian sees the way Emma swallows, the way her breath seems to be coming a little uneven again but he chooses not to worry this time, instead he leans in the rest of the way, and oh so gently at first, presses his lips to hers.

It's a proper kiss this time and it's slow and very tender at first. One of her hands finds its way to the back of his head; she starts messing with his hair mindlessly, and it tickles him, and it is not the first time she's done that, but _it is_ the first time she's doing it while they kiss.

He can say now with all certainty, that this kiss, is well worth everything it took them to get here.

He chuckles when Emma chases his mouth when he dares pull back to catch his breath.

She’s blushing, because this is not how it usually feels, she’s usually so much better at keeping her cool, but with him, with him it just doesn’t seem to matter.

She has no mind to try to pretend she doesn’t want him as terribly as she does. She wants to kiss him, perhaps, at some level, make up for all that time they’ve wasted.

“Are you going to kiss me or…”

Killian nods playfully. “As you wish…”

/-/-/

They are not sure how much time has passed since they’ve been here, but they know it’s getting later by the amount of people joining them at the beach.

Their little corner is still peaceful enough that neither thinks they have to move _right this_ minute, but they both also know that it is _almost_ time to start heading back.

Emma’s humming, unconsciously; she’s nestled between his legs, and he finds it nearly impossible not to press light little kisses to the skin between her neck and shoulder.

She closes her eyes, relishing in every bit of his touch.

She feels so calm now, as though whatever tomorrow decides to bring, truly doesn’t matter, because she’s ready to take it.

She isn’t alone.

She has this man making her feel so wanted and loved, and it’s surreal how much her life seems to have spun back into place in just one morning, a couple hours, but it has, and _God,_ it feels so great.

“Hey,”

“mmm…” Emma mumbles shaking her head. She’s not ready for the spell to break, she knows she should be heading back soon, she doesn’t want to make anyone worried, and she knows at least Elsa who knows she’s here will, but—

At the same time, Emma feels as though she should freeze time right now, bottle them both up and this moment, this whole morning with just him, and just stay like this.

Alas…

“Are you going to tell me what’s your friend’s name now?”

Emma’s eyes snap open as she remembers. _Right._ “Elsa...”

Killian’s head is tilted just so that their eyes are aligned, and although he tries to hide the grin that tries to form, Emma’s onto him. She sighs. “Seriously?”

“I believe so, yes, love,”

“ _My Elsa?”_

He chuckles slightly at that and shrugs. “Perhaps,” he tells her. “Is she Swiss, blonde, tall, beautiful, and a wee bit intimidating?”

“Oh yeah,”

“Does she have a sister?”

“Yeah,”

“Is she a beautiful redheaded? Kindest soul but in possession of absolutely no filter?”

“Yeah…” At this point Emma isn’t even sure why she’s even trying to deny it. “That sounds like Anna all right,” she shakes her head, running her hands over her face before meeting his eyes once more. “I can’t believe it,”

Killian again simply offers her a little shrug. “It’s a small world,”

She sighs. “Yeah, you don’t say,”

“You like her though, right?”

“Who? Elsa?”

Killian nods, untangling his arms from around Emma so that she can turn properly toward him. She nods strongly at his question. “Yes, a lot. She’s been a really great friend to me these last few years,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” for no reason whatsoever, Emma leans in and steals a tiny peck to his lips. It causes him to grin like a maniac. She knows Killian goes as far as almost worshiping his brother; he adores him like no other, and it doesn’t surprise Emma he wants to make sure this sudden girlfriend, soon-to-be his wife, is deserving of his big brother. Good thing Emma only has good things to tell him about Elsa. “Your big brother is a lucky one. She’s amazing.”

“Aye, I’m glad to hear that,” he says, smiling. “I’m also glad you are close with them, growing up you were never big on girl friends, I’m glad you have that now,”

Emma nods, because the truth is, so is she. She never knew how much she’s missed in that department until she met Elsa and the two of them just clicked. Anna on the other hand, is a complete different beast, but with time, Emma has learned to love her just as much as well.

“Did _you_ meet Anna?”

“Aye, I did,”

And the smirk on his face tells Emma he _met_ Anna all right. She can’t help laughing. “You know, once, she was visiting us in Cali, and she got _really, really_ tipsy on like, margaritas or something. Eventually she passed out on the couch, she was pretty jet lagged, but then she woke up at some point before Elsa and I went to sleep. The two of us were chatting up by the kitchen table while Anna slept, —so then, when Anna gets up, she’s still so drunk and wobbly on her feet of course. And she’s babbling, I don’t even remember what she was saying, but then she goes to the table, holds onto Elsa, hugs her super tight, looks at me, and then shouts, ‘ _she’s mine Emma, you can’t take her away from me!’_ and so, uh, that’s the story of how we realized Anna thought I was stealing her sister from her,”

Emma grins when her story is enough to have Killian laughing. She bites her lip looking at him, his carefree laugh, and all those lines forming on his face as he laughs. She realizes then she loves him most like this — _happy_.

“She likes me now though, we cleared the air, and I told her it was okay she kept her sister,”

Killian chuckles again, not really having trouble picturing Anna in that scenario. He only met her for a couple hours, but it had been enough for sure. “I was supposed to meet them all for breakfast at nine,”

Emma’s face falls a little. “So was I…” and they smile at each other, because what’s their life that it takes his brother and her best friend to randomly meet in a different country, decide to elope, drag them to North Carolina of all places, to freaking bring them back together?

“You’re ready to go back?”

Emma tilts her head as she watches Killian scratching his ear as he shyly locks eyes with her. She knows what he wants to say already, but she still waits until he does.

“Maybe?”

Emma takes in a deep breath and holds it for a beat or two before slowly letting it out. “They’re gonna ask a lot of questions,”

“I know,”

She’s nervously chewing her lips, thinking (over thinking, really) every possible scenario.

Killian sighs, wishing she didn’t have to do that. “We don’t have to tell them anything right away,”

“No, actually we do,”

He narrows his eyes at bit, not at her answer, but at the quickness that it came with. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it, it’s okay, we should tell them,” Emma reassures him, shaking her head. “I gotta start owning up to my feelings,” she tells him, and she’s being one hundred percent honest here. “Not just how I feel about you, but Henry too, hell, even David. He’s my _brother,_ not my Dad, and I know we _both_ forget that at times,”

Killian honestly can’t agree more with that sentiment, yet instead of telling her how much he agrees, because he does, he finds himself smiling gently at her.

“What?”

“Nothing, Swan,” but it is something, and her mischievous little smile is proof that she knows. “I’m just proud of you love,”

She lets out a chuckle, shaking her head at the way her cheeks so quickly flushed.

It makes him laugh softly. “Come on, let’s go,” he tells her, extending his hand out for her to take. “We both know you are probably starving,”

Oh she _is_ starving! With a laugh, Emma holds onto his hand and lets Killian help her to her feet. They stay a few more minutes at the beach, shaking some of the sand off them, holding hands, kissing some more.

They start their walk back through the same walking passage that brought them here. It’s at least a twenty-minute walk back to the hotel so at least Emma’s happy to have that time to collect and recollect her thoughts about today.

They are walking right by the bench Emma was sitting before, when Killian suddenly stops walking and lets go of her hand.

Emma’s confused for all of twenty seconds until she realizes he’s just picking up from the floor the book she had been previously reading.

She completely forgot about it before, but is now terribly glad is not lost forever. Henry’s picture is in her pocket, it has been since Killian gave it back earlier, but even without her precious bookmark in it, Emma’s glad she didn’t lose her book.

They start walking again, but Killian’s pace is slower, and he’s nervously fidgeting with her fingers every once in a while.

Emma’s about to ask him what’s up, when he stops walking (again) and turns to look at her. “Hey Emma…”

And now he’s just being silly. “Hey Killian,” she tells him, using the same sing-song tone he used.

“You know,” he starts then, feigning the kind of casualness nobody with eyes or ears would buy. “Besides yesterday and today, I haven’t really used up any of my vacation days at work this year,”

“Okay,”

“That’s like over two weeks of vacation time without counting weekends,”

“Okay,”

“Emma,”

“Yes?”

His index fingers moves to scratch at the side of his nose, he’s nervous, but also trying to seem playful as to keep her at ease.

Emma knows better than to think he’s not about to tell her something serious. “What is it? It’s okay. Just tell me.”

He gives her a look she can’t read before just letting out a breath. His next words all come out in one rushed breath. “Maybe you’d like a road trip buddy when you move back?”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth surely drops at _that_. She wasn’t expecting him to say _that._ She didn’t even consider it. Didn’t even cross her mind, but—

That would be _perfect_. She can’t think of a better way to start this very new chapter in her life but _with him._

“Killian—”

He shakes his head, cutting her off; he’s not quite finished selling his case yet. “I could, you know, I could do that trip with you. We could take turns driving; think about it from a safety standpoint, a second person in the car is always a plus. _Plus,_ it’s me, and there’s still so much I haven’t told you, and I…I want to hear everything you’ve been up to these last few years, and I…I don’t know, maybe I just can be there, I can…help you start over, Swan,”

Emma gulps; not sure how many beats her heart has skipped, but surely at least three or five. She’s not sure what she’s done to deserve him in her life, but whatever it was, she’s thankful.

“I love you,”

He grins, but she can tell he’s still waiting for an answer.

“I’d like that,” she tells him at last, and she can see in his face how much it relieves him to hear that. “I’d like that very _very_ much Killian,”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she assures him, before she steps in, right into his personal space, grabs him by the collar of his shirt, and then just pulls him against her. _She_ kisses him this time, and it’s everything a kiss should be. It’s love and passion, devotion and lust —all at once. It’s years of friendship, and hope for a future. It’s their past and their present, their mistakes and their every set back. Is the certainty that none of it matters right now, yet it does all the same.

“I’m glad that’s settled then,” he says and Emma can’t help chuckling. He kisses her once more, but this time is playful and quick. “Shall we go face your brother now?”

Dramatically she lets out a deep sigh. “If we must,”

His lips twitch upwards when she reaches down to hold his hand. Killian grins, not just holding her hand back, but interlocking their fingers.

Their eyes lock too, and hers are shimmering, and she’s so damn beautiful, and she loves _him_ and he loves her, and they both are aware how the other feels, and it’s just perfect.

“Ready then?”

“Aye, Swan,” he smiles, leaning in and pressing his lips lovingly to hers. “We can handle this.”

_—fin—_


End file.
